Chapter 62
Elena's POV
I woke from shallow sleep as the familiar iron gates and trimmed evergreen hedges slid past the window. The SUV had slowed, the engine's rumble dropping to a low hum. I sat up too quickly, my hair sticking up on one side, sleep still clinging to the edges of my vision.
Caleb's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. I caught the movement, saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he wanted to smile but thought better of it.
"Stop at the gate," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. "I can walk from there."
He didn't answer. Just kept driving, his hands steady on the wheel. The car slowed even more, but it didn't stop.
I sat forward, gripping the edge of the seat. "Caleb. The gate is fine. I don't need you to—"
"I heard you," he said quietly.
But he still didn't stop.
When we stopped less than a hundred meters from my house, I reached for the door handle.
Locked.
I looked at the driver's seat. Caleb's profile was sharp in the light, all clean lines and shadows, his eyes catching mine in the rearview mirror.
"You sure you don't have anything you want to say?" His voice was low, measured, but there was an edge to it that made my skin prickle. "Nothing you want to ask me?"
My heart was hammering now, a frantic rhythm I was sure he could hear. I knew what he was asking. About the kiss. About last night.
I didn't have an answer.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. "You woke up," he said, his tone dropping into something almost dangerous, "and you started running again."
"I'm not running," I said automatically. "I just need to get home. My parents will—"
"Your parents." He cut me off, and I could feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. "Right. Because that's what matters. What they think. What Damon thinks. What everyone else thinks except you."
I swallowed hard. "It's not."
"Isn't it?" He turned in his seat now, looking at me directly, and I wanted to sink into the upholstery. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you'd rather hide behind excuses than actually deal with what happened between us."
The air in the car felt too thin. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, because what could I say that wouldn't make this worse? That I was terrified? That every time I let myself think about the kiss, about the way his mouth had felt on mine, I wanted to run straight back to him and do it again?
"I need to go," I said again, hating how weak I sounded.
His jaw clenched. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"I can wait, Elena." His eyes found mine again in the mirror, and the weight of his gaze was almost unbearable. "I can wait for you to figure out what you want. But you can't just keep running. If you've thought it through and you don't want this—don't want me—then say it. Tell me no, and I'll back off. But don't use 'I need to go home' as an excuse to avoid the truth."
My chest ached. The rawness in his words, the vulnerability he was showing me even as he called me out, made something crack open inside me.
"I don't know what the truth is," I whispered.
He exhaled, a harsh sound in the quiet car. "Then figure it out. But do it honestly. Not by running away every time things get uncomfortable."
The lock clicked open.
Caleb got out without another word, moving around to the trunk.
I forced myself to move, climbing out into the cold morning air. I walked to the back of the SUV.
Caleb was already there, my suitcase sitting on the ground beside him. I reached for the handle.
His hand covered mine before I could grip it.
The contact hit me like a live wire. A current of heat shot up my arm, spreading through my chest and making my breath catch in my throat. That familiar sensation washing over me again.
My wolf stirred beneath my skin, not in protest but in something that felt dangerously close to longing.
I froze. So did he. I could feel his fingers, warm against the back of my hand, feel the tension in his grip like he was fighting the urge to pull me closer.
Then I yanked my hand back like I'd been burned.
I grabbed the suitcase handle, my fingers clumsy and shaking, and started walking. Fast. Too fast. My wheels clicked and rattled over the uneven stone path, but I didn't slow down. I couldn't. If I stopped, if I looked back, I didn't know what I'd do.
Behind me, I heard nothing. No footsteps. No voice calling my name.
When I finally risked a glance over my shoulder, Caleb was still standing by the SUV, his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense.
He wasn't following.
I turned the corner, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might crack a rib.
And ran straight into Randy Vance.
I stumbled back with a startled gasp, nearly losing my grip on the suitcase. The old Alpha stood like a statue on the path, dressed in a long dark coat, one hand resting on the head of a polished walking stick.
His eyes swept over me, taking in my disheveled appearance with the calm assessment of someone used to reading people.
Then his nose twitched. Just slightly. But I saw it, and my stomach dropped.
"Grandpa Randy." My voice came out too high, too breathless. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Good morning. I didn't expect to see you here."
"I was visiting your father," he said pleasantly, as if we'd simply run into each other at the grocery store. "That was Caleb, wasn't it?"
It wasn't really a question.